


Modern Art

by dickpuncher420



Category: Leviathan - Scott Westerfeld
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-04 02:13:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1762659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dickpuncher420/pseuds/dickpuncher420
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deryn walks in on Alek...painting? (And singing, and dancing.) When Alek finally reveals his painting, Deryn is skeptical, and they ask Dr. Barlow her opinion. Her answer is completely unexpected: she loves it. But there's a twist: the praise isn't for Alek. Quid pro quos and Bovril galore! One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Modern Art

Deryn was casually strolling through the hallways of Dr. Barlow’s house, hands in her pockets, whistling a song that she made up on the spot. Her boots thudded on the polished wooden floors, pausing every once in a while as she peeked through one of the many doorways, searching for Alek. He had Bovril with him, and she wanted the beastie so it could keep her company as she sorted papers for the lady boffin.

“Sodding paperwork,” she muttered as she peered through another door. Unfortunately, the room it led to was empty, so she scowled and resumed her walk. “Barking lazy boffins, can’t even organize their own sodding papers.”

Although she shouldn’t really be complaining about the lady boffin. After they had left the Leviathan, she and Alek had had nowhere to stay. Dr. Barlow had graciously offered them to stay in her own house, and they’d had no choice but to accept, despite how barking annoying she could be. It was, after all, the only place they could stay in.

Deryn paused when she heard the sound of classical music drifting down the hall. She advanced slowly, ears cocked, searching for the source of the music. She stopped in front of the door from which the music emanated. Listening, she heard somebody singing along to the melody, quite off tune. She smirked, positive that she had finally found Alek.

She grasped the door handle, barging in without bothering to knock and was met with a strange sight. Alek was…painting? It also appeared as though he were dancing behind the wooden easel he was using. He bobbed and twirled, arms in the air, paintbrush in hand, waltzing with an invisible partner. And he was also, indeed, singing. Quite loudly and terribly, at that. Every so often, he would reach out and paint a stroke on the canvas, not pausing in his dancing or singing.

As she looked around in shock, she noticed Bovril, splattered with different colours of paint, sitting beside a record player in the corner, which was playing the classical music. Bovril had its eyes closed and was swaying happily to the music, oblivious to her presence.

Regaining her wits, Deryn opened her mouth and exclaimed, “Barking spiders, are you _painting_?” Alek spun around, bewildered. As he did so, a glob of red paint flew off of his paintbrush and Deryn found herself with a face- and mouthful of crimson acrylics. She spluttered and spat a wad of red onto the lush carpet, fuming.

“Can’t you knock?” Alek shouted. However, when he saw who it was and what he had done, his eyes widened and he squeaked, “Sorry, Deryn!” But the fear on his face was soon replaced by amusement, and he guffawed at Deryn’s expression, liberally splattered with red. Deryn’s anger dissipated and she felt a smile tugging at her lips at Alek’s infectious laughter, despite his having sprayed her with paint.

“Are you _painting_?” giggled Bovril from the corner, repeating Deryn’s words.

Alek straightened and cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. To answer your question, I am indeed painting.”

Deryn scoffed. “You, painting? You can’t be serious.” She wiped off some paint from her face and flicked it to the floor, smirking.

Alek harrumphed. “I am very serious. And I’ll have you know that I am quite talented.” He crossed his arms and looked away, nose in the air, looking very offended. Bovril imitated him, crossing its tiny arms and lifting its now blue snout. “ _Hmph!_ ” it said, the picture of injured pride.

“Alright,” Deryn said, advancing towards the canvas. “Let’s have a look then, shall we?”

Alek immediately went to shield the painting with his body. “No! It’s not done yet. You can’t see the masterpiece until it’s finished.”

Deryn rolled her eyes at the word _masterpiece_. She seriously doubted that Alek could draw a stick figure, let alone paint a ‘masterpiece.’ She quickly scooped up Bovril and turned to leave, shooting over her shoulder, “Well then, you come let me know when your ‘masterpiece’ is finished. I’m sure it’ll be barking _wonderful_.”

She stopped in the doorway and looked back to see that Alek had resumed his horrible dancing and singing. He was currently prancing around the room like a demented fairy, swishing the paintbrush around like a magical wand, oblivious to the fact that Deryn was still there.

Deryn snorted and left, heading towards Dr. Barlow’s office. Bovril sat perched on her shoulder, contentedly humming the melody of the song Alek had been singing and dancing to.

 

Deryn knocked on the door to Dr. Barlow’s office. “Come in,” the boffin called. Straightening her now red and white shirt, Deryn opened the door and stepped inside.

The lady boffin quickly glanced up to see who had entered. “Ah, good. You’re here. You can sort the pile over there, in alphabetical order—” Dr. Barlow stopped and did a double take, staring at Deryn. “My dear, whatever happened to your face?”

Deryn blushed, turning her face even redder than it already was. “Um, well, you see, I walked in on Alek painting, and—” She was interrupted by Dr. Barlow.

“Alek was _painting_?” she asked, incredulous.

“Aye, I know. That’s what I said. Well, I startled him a wee bit and he had a paintbrush in his hand, so when he turned around this giant glob of paint flew off and hit me in the face.” She left out the part about Alek’s embarrassing dancing (if it could even be called that) and singing (although it was more wailing than singing).

“I see. And may I ask why your loris is so…colourful?”

“I’m not quite sure myself why Bovril’s covered in paint.”

“Alright. And did you manage to see what Alek was painting?”

“No, he said that I can’t see it until it’s finished. Daft sod,” Deryn added under her breath.

“Well then, I think that while we wait for him to complete his painting, you can sort those papers over there,” Dr. Barlow said, motioning to an enormous stack of papers sitting on the corner of her desk. “Put them in alphabetical order, stamp them, and then put them into this file cabinet, please.”

Deryn sighed, grumbling about “barking sheltered princes never having to work,” picked up the papers and set to work putting them in order while Bovril chattered away and stamped the sheets.

 

Nearly two hours later, a dirty and dishevelled Alek appeared in the open doorway and rapped on the frame. “I’m done,” he exclaimed, breathless, either from running or waltzing with himself Deryn didn’t know. He was a mess: paint was streaked across his face, some of it was in his hair, his clothes were stained and dried paint caked his fingernails. Despite his bedraggled appearance, he was grinning like a loon and his face (underneath all of the paint) was glowing with pride.

He motioned for her to follow him, practically bouncing with excitement. Deryn straightened, cracking her aching back after being hunched over for so long. She snapped for Bovril who dropped the stamp and scurried up her arm to settle on her shoulder. Yawning, Deryn said, “Mind if I go see what’s got Alek’s knickers in such a twist?”

Dr. Barlow distractedly flapped her hand in her direction, not looking up from her work. “Oh, yes, yes, go ahead. I shall be with you in a minute.”

Deryn grinned and followed Alek out the door. As he led her back to his studio (as Deryn had decided to call Alek’s painting room), hardly able to refrain from sprinting ahead in anticipation, Deryn couldn’t help but be reminded of Tazza when she took him for a walk after being cooped up for too long, dragging her along on his leash. She was glad to see Alek excited about something for once—he was usually a bit sulky, having nothing to do during all of his spare time, when he wasn’t helping Dr. Barlow in her office. And, admittedly, there was nothing exciting about sorting and signing papers for the lady boffin; their jobs for the London Zoological Society were rather boring, so far.

Deryn was abruptly jostled from her thoughts when she crashed into something soft that turned out to be Alek. He was standing in front of the door to the studio, apparently unfazed at Deryn (all 5 feet and 10 inches of her, plus Bovril) running straight into him. He swept out his hands in a dramatic gesture, and then motioned for her to enter the room. In the middle of it stood an easel covered with a grimy cloth. Deryn walked towards it and made to lift up the cloth, but Alek swiftly smacked her hands away. “No!” he cried. “I have to do it. It’s _my_ masterpiece, after all.”

Deryn sighed. He sounded like a four-year-old fighting about whose turn it was to play with the stupid war figurines. She snorted when she remembered that he still played with them at fifteen years old. “Whatever you say, your princeliness,” she replied before bowing mockingly and backing away.

Bovril chuckled. “Whatever you say,” it repeated.

Alek took no notice of their antics and instead grabbed the cloth with both of his hands. “Prepare,” he said in a ridiculously low voice. Deryn rolled her eyes just as he whipped the cloth away with an overly dramatic flair and a rather high-pitched “ _Voilà!_ ” When she saw what he had painted, she gaped, her mouth dropping open.

She didn’t know what she’d been expecting. She wasn’t sure if she’d expected it to be terrible or amazing (well, she actually had expected it to be terrible). She hadn’t even known what the painting was going to be _of_. All that she knew was that she certainly hadn’t expected _this_.

The canvas was criss-crossed with vertical and horizontal black lines, with varying distances between each other. Interspersed with these lines were blue, red and yellow squares and rectangles against a white background. That was it. No animals, no people, no landscapes, no buildings, no daft Clanker contraptions. It was just dead _bizarre,_ and she hadn’t any idea about what it could possibly be.

She could feel Alek’s expectant eyes on her, waiting for her verdict.

Deryn cleared her throat before speaking.

“Alek, what the bloody hell? What is this?”

He recoiled, and a flash of disappointment shone through on his face, before being quickly replaced by an expression of superiority and haughtiness.

“It’s art,” he replied, drawing himself up to his full height (which wasn’t all that impressive).

Deryn scoffed. “You call _this_ art? I’m sure _Bovril_ could do better. This doesn’t look like anything! All I see is lines and squares.”

Alek sighed impatiently. “It’s called _modern_ art.”

“What’s the barking difference?” Deryn crossed her arms.

“It’s a new way for artists to express their emotions. Abstract, I think it was called. I first came upon it at an art festival back in Vienna and I found it intriguing. So I decided to try it myself, seeing as I have no talent for traditional art. And I can assure you that modern art is becoming quite popular; your sketches are going to be out of style fairly soon.”

Deryn stroked her chin thoughtfully, contemplating his words. “You’re right.”

“I am?” Alek was flabbergasted—Deryn would never admit that he was right about something!

“Aye. You have no artistic talent _whatsoever_.” Deryn smirked.

“I do too! Can you not feel the emotion pouring out of this painting?” he cried, gesticulating wildly at said painting.

“Nope. I still only see lines and squares, and not very good ones at that.”

Alek glowered.

“Well, what did you expect me to say? ‘Oh, wow, I can definitely see Alek’s passion for geometry in this painting!’” Deryn countered sarcastically.

By that point, Alek had lost his composure and looked about ready to lob another glob of paint at Deryn’s smirking face. Just as he was reaching for his paintbrush, Dr. Barlow entered the room, accompanied by her dark-furred loris. Catching sight of each other, the two lorises each scrambled off of their respective owners’ shoulders to converse eagerly under the multi-coloured easel.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” said the doctor. Her gaze quickly flitted from Deryn’s smug expression to Alek’s furious one, taking note of the dripping paintbrush in Alek’s hand. However, she chose to remain silent about this and instead advanced towards the canvas.

“My, my, this is a real work of art,” she breathed.

Alek quickly straightened in obvious surprise, dropping the paintbrush. “You really think so, ma’am?”

“Oh, yes, indeed. It is absolutely _stunning_. A real masterpiece, I might say.”

Alek’s jaw dropped in astonishment, but his expression quickly turned smug and he turned to Deryn, mouthing, _What did I tell you?_ Deryn simply stuck her tongue out at him.

The two watched as Dr. Barlow moved closer, seemingly to better inspect the painting. Instead, to their surprise, she stepped past the easel and strode towards something on the other side of the room. Deryn stared at her in confusion as she picked up a small, flat rectangle that sat against the wall. She immediately recognized it as another canvas.

“Magnificent,” Dr. Barlow muttered. She looked up at both of them. “Who painted this?”

Deryn and Alek could only look on in shock. The lorises had fallen silent as well. After several long moments, Bovril stood up and waddled over to Dr. Barlow. It stopped at her feet, puffed its small chest out and said, “Me!”

Deryn gaped and Alek looked as if he might faint. The lady boffin simply crouched down in front of the paint-splattered loris and held out the painting for it to see. “You painted this?” she asked calmly, in stark contrast to Alek’s heaving breaths and pale face. Bovril nodded eagerly and repeated, “Me!” The fab pointed to itself as emphasis.

Deryn recovered from her shock (unlike Alek, the daft boy) and advanced towards Dr. Barlow and Bovril to see what all the fuss was about. Her eyes widened when she saw what the beastie had created.

Against a swirling background of muted oranges, reds and yellows, a majestic bird took flight. Its shimmering crimson wings stretched out on either side of its lithe frame. Its head, tilted towards the sky, beak open in a silent crow of exhilaration, vaguely resembled that of a lion, with a flowing crown of vibrant feathers. The bird’s two legs clawed at the air, sharpened talons glittering. The tail, like a peacock’s majestic fan, was splayed open beneath the flying bird. Fire seemed to lap and its wings, legs and tail. The lines were intricate and flowing. However, there were not many details, but this only contributed to the bird’s wonder and left much to the imagination.

Deryn gawked, eyes drinking in every aspect of the painting, before she managed to sputter, “What is it?”

Bovril looked at her with glittering eyes and proudly exclaimed, “Beastie!”

“Aye, I realized. But what kind of beastie?"

This time, Dr. Barlow answered. “I believe that it is a phoenix. Correct?”

Bovril nodded enthusiastically. “Phoenix!” it echoed.

“Barking spiders…” Deryn breathed. “But I thought that it was just a myth.”

“It is indeed a mythical creature, however many scientists have been trying to create a replica of the phoenix. It will not be immune to fire, nor will it be constantly reborn. Those are distinctly legendary traits.”

Deryn nodded slowly. “Um… How did Bovril know what a barking phoenix _was_?”

“That is indeed a good question. Perhaps it glimpsed it in a book, or one of my colleagues spoke of it and it overheard the description. It is meant to be perspicacious, after all. But I’m afraid we cannot know, unless Bovril here decides to tell us.”

When Deryn and the lady boffin looked at Bovril, it simply gave them a knowing look and whispered, “Secret.” Deryn sighed in exasperation and muttered, “Sodding sneaky beak loris.” Bovril chuckled.

“Well, then,” said Dr. Barlow. “Perhaps we ought to think about having Bovril pursue a career in art. I’m sure it will be quite popular. Come along.” With that, she snapped her fingers for both lorises. They deftly climbed onto each of her shoulders, and, painting in hand, Dr. Barlow swiftly left the room.

Deryn blinked. “Well, I guess that explains why Bovril was covered in paint.” She walked over to Alek, who was staring at the door that Dr. Barlow had just exited, uncomprehending. She lightly smacked his cheek, shaking him out of his stupor. “Hey!” he cried indignantly, rubbing his face. Deryn laughed.

“So, how does it feel being bested by a beastie?” she queried. Alek, surprised by her sudden question, opened and closed his mouth several times like a fish before answering, “Terrible. And embarrassing.”

Deryn chuckled and patted his shoulder in understanding. “Ah, well. You’ll still be the best at tinkering with your daft Clanker machines. Unless Bovril’s better than you at that too?” She looked questioningly at his reddening face.

“I, uh, I mean, Bovril’s been, ah, _helping_ me with, um…” He stopped and looked away, cheeks burning.

Deryn just laughed, ruffling his hair good naturedly, and left the room, heading back towards Dr. Barlow’s office to continue with her excruciatingly boring paper sorting. Along the way, she mused about the lorises’ amazing intelligence and capabilities.

Sooner or later, the lorises were going to become smarter than they could handle. And then they would have a real problem on their hands.


End file.
